


inside and out

by ever_increasing_circles



Category: British Comedian RPF, Pointless RPF
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_increasing_circles/pseuds/ever_increasing_circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filming has finished for the week, and so the weekend is there for Alexander and Richard to spend in any way that they please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inside and out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jasmasson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmasson/gifts).



> A Yuletide treat, because I saw people requesting Pointless and was so delighted that I just wanted to treat everybody...! I can't resist pondering over Alexander and Richard's relationship, so here we are. Hope you enjoy it :D
> 
> Any similarity between the fictional versions of the people portrayed here and the actual people is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).

Alexander invites Richard back to the flat after the recording, because sometimes he is quite exhausted at the end of a day's recording _but sometimes he isn't_ , and today is one of those days. Tonight, one of those nights. He asks Richard as they leave Television Centre, wording it carefully but phrasing it casually, because it _is_ late, and Richard has his own life to lead. Perhaps he's tired. It's Friday night and the gates of the weekend are thrown open wide to them, but perhaps not to Richard; sometimes they record on a Sunday. Maybe Richard is working on Saturday. Alexander knows that he doesn't know, and can't know until he asks, but for a moment there is that piercing, keen feeling that _just wants Richard to say 'yes'_. And he agrees, without a second thought. Alexander smiles for the duration of the taxi journey, but won't tell Richard why.

The flat itself is Alexander's London hideaway, there to return to when the journey back _home_ is inadvisable, through traffic or time or blocks of recording that need him in the city for days at a time. As a place to live, it still lies quite sparse, but for somewhere to _go_ it is, nonetheless, perfect.

He sits by the window, leaning his elbow on the windowsill, looking out towards the city. It doesn't matter if he is tired or not, the city never sleeps; from the morning through to the evening and beyond, there will still be the steady stream of cars, the movement of those who have to move... and Richard is standing in the doorway, holding one of the bottles of wine he hadn't been sure if he'd still had waiting in the kitchen.

"I see I've not run out just yet, then?"

"Not yet, no. You'd surprise me by being unprepared, though. I mean, you don't even have a television in here yet, but the day I go to your kitchen and _don't_ find wine? That's when I'm going to worry."

Alexander smiles, running his fingers against the open window's seal. "Well, sometimes I don't come back here for a while." He turns to face Richard. "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"Me?" Richard throws himself down against the sofa. "Nope. Not a thing. You think I'm going to risk coming back here and getting drunk with you when I've got things I need to be doing...?!"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"You're right, but being a capable adult with the ability to learn from my experiences--" (Alexander fixes Richard with a gaze. He falters.) "--... Yes, well. As it happens, I'm not doing anything tomorrow. Why do you ask?"

"No, I was just wondering. I thought it might be nice to spend some time together, that's all."

"Because it's not enough that we've spent most of the week in that studio together?"

Alexander keeps his smile pleasant. "Maybe I like to see you outside of the studio sometimes too, though. Unless you want to be kept behind a desk and eight feet apart from me at all times, of course." He can't prevent the smirk in his voice. "Like some kind of challenge."

If there _were_ to be any such challenge, then Richard breaks the rules almost immediately; having poured the wine to two glasses, he closes the distance between them and hands the glass over. Alexander accepts, reaching for it in _just_ that certain way so that their fingers brush together, _just for a moment. Just for a moment too long_.

The week has been time spent together, but under glass. Watched, always. The floor crew, the gallery staff, the audience, the _cameras_. Time spent together but kept necessarily apart, marked by the desk and by the podium and the fact that nobody _needed_ physical proximity to be able to host a quiz show. And Alexander turns to Richard after every question, but can do no more than listen. Listen, smile, nod, " _thanks very much, Richard_."

Richard hands him wine, and they have the whole weekend. He looks to Richard, believing his thoughts shared. Why else, after all, would Richard have returned here with him if they _weren't_ on the same page? No commitments until Monday and there, in the flat, they were locked away from any and everyone. Alexander watches the city as he drains his glass, then stands and closes the window. The change is abrupt and noticeable; the sounds of the city lie muffled and somewhere beyond, and the room is dark, and Richard sits still on the sofa. Alexander lets out a deep breath as he approaches, as he places his hands on the back ridge of the sofa, his knees to the cushions either side of Richard's own.

"We didn't even turn the light on." He lifts his gaze from Richard's chest to Richard's eyes, just for a moment. "We must be in a hurry."

Richard brushes his forefinger beneath Alexander's chin, his thumb across his cheek.

Borrowed city light is enough for this.

 

\--

 

Richard accompanies Alexander for as long as he can, as they make their way out of the building. He lets Alexander talk as they go, attempting to gauge Alexander's reactions. These recordings ran late and he was often tired, but they walked from the building to the carpark and he was still talking, as animated and enthusiastic as ever he was. This can only go so far, however; if Alexander wants to go _home_ , then he has arrangements to make. If they are to go their separate ways, they are to go in very separate directions. Richard lingers until the last possible moment, until Alexander _realises_ it the last possible moment, at which point he turns to Richard with that certain look in his eyes and that one innocent request: " _Did you--... want to come back with me?_ "

They're still on BBC grounds and this could be dangerous, but even Richard is sure that nobody would think a thing of two people sharing a taxi. Perhaps they have a shared destination or a common split-point, perhaps _any number of things_.

Perhaps Richard has been waiting for this all week. Perhaps it has been longer. _Alexander was tired last week, wasn't he?_ He knows that these visits can only be the exception to the rule and so he would never push them or even suggest them, but he would give Alexander every opportunity to offer them.

He remains quiet, as the taxi takes them to Alexander's flat. Alexander himself has drifted into silence, his thoughts causing him to smile; Richard _wants_ to ask, but not now. Not here. Not yet. They sit apart on the back seat of the vehicle, hands resting close between them but _not yet. Not here._

When they reach the flat, Alexander goes straight through to the front room. He goes to the window before he even goes to the lightswitch, pushing the window open. Even from the inside corridor, Richard can hear the difference. He goes to the kitchen instead, turning the light on there and finding what he's looking for almost immediately. He wonders if Alexander does this on purpose, leaving bottles of wine sitting out on the side like that. They don't _need_ to drink, but it's the weekend and they've finished off a week of recording and these two days can feel so precious, sometimes. Monday will bring production meetings and lunch meetings and _more recordings_ and Richard does love his job, but also loves these moments that are not _quite_ like anything else.

They ask so many questions. Dry, but necessary. Demographics. Viewing figures. If this round works, if this style of question works, if this manner of communicating with the contestants works--. They talk about Alexander as the necessity that he is, that vital conduit between contestant and camera. They talk of people who enjoy the quiz elements, of the unexpected side-effect of those constant comments, _we do enjoy the on-screen relationship between Alexander and Richard--_. Alexander sometimes wishes that he could be the full-time host of Have I Got News For You, but Richard thinks that, after all this time, they are unlikely to settle _now_. And in those meetings, they ask about that sort of thing. _Does he have any other commitments? Is he likely to take on anything else? We need him available--_

Richard stands in the doorway, watching Alexander watch the city. He doesn't have to think about any meetings until Monday, doesn't have to consider Alexander a _necessity_ but like an _object, that thing we need in order for the programme to run--_ for the entirety of the weekend.

Alexander talks, but Richard barely listens. It's like a routine, whenever they come back here. Smalltalk. Sitting in the front room. _Why are we even in here?_ He leaves the light off. Pours the wine. Lets Alexander talk. Alexander likes his wine and does have a habit of buying _the good stuff_ , but Richard hands the filled glass over and feels the purposeful brush of Alexander's fingers he _knows_ is only there to drive him to distraction, and Alexander smiles and talks of distance and challenge like it's all just a game - and perhaps it is, in a way. Richard returns to the sofa, needing Alexander's touch but more than that, needing the wine to facilitate such things in the first place.

Prize Island airs soon. Richard has his own memories of those heady, tropical days, but it's down to the edit suite, now. Negotiations and requirements and broadcast times, deals for advert slots with other companies and _those beaches, though. Those sunsets. When we sat on the sand and talked about nothing until the sky threatened to light once more--_

Richard finds himself often asked things on Alexander's behalf. _Would he be interested in this? Do you think he'd be willing to do that?_ Richard likes to think that Alexander can talk for himself, make his own decisions, _but he's not here and you are, Richard. What would he say, though? What would he do? Tell us, tell us._

When silence falls in the flat, Alexander doesn't need to say anything. Richard _could_ ask him these things, these many, many things, but those are worries for _outside_ and _beyond_. And it feels so wonderfully final when Alexander closes the window; Richard tips his head back against the sofa as he watches Alexander approach, orange light from outside highlighting his right side until he comes close enough to the sofa for everything to fall into shadow. The space between Alexander's hands and Richard's shoulders feels almost unbearable. Alexander's thighs pressed over his own feels _absolutely_ unbearable. And Alexander speaks again, but Richard hears only the murmured sound of his voice, too intoxicated to separate this into words, concepts, _anything_.

Everything has to be on Alexander's suggestion, though. _Here, now, it's you._ He touches fingers to Alexander's skin, as if barely even daring.

_It's all you, Xander._

 

 

 

 

_end_


End file.
